


(Not) Pretend

by TruthandLies



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 20:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13689564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruthandLies/pseuds/TruthandLies
Summary: Over the course of four Valentine's Days, Mal and Evie make the journey from friends to lovers.





	(Not) Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> (Very) loosely set within the same universe as "Hearts of Fabric, Paint and Snow."

_(The first year, they pretend it isn’t happening.)_

The docks are a shadow place this late in the evening. Pirate ships sway in a sea churning and gray. A sea blocked by a barrier, which keeps Dead Things and Things Which are Evil locked away from Things Which Are Not. In other words, locking Isle from Auradon.

Evie shivers in the whispering cold. Windy fingers push against her skin, pricking it with goose bumps.

Or maybe the goose bumps are caused by the girl standing beside her. Evie never can tell; her skin always thrills when she’s with Mal.

Mal isn’t supposed to be here.

_(Their mothers would punish them both if they knew. Evie’s mother would lock her in the castle without food, only water. And Mal’s mother… No. Evie won’t think about that.)_

Mal certainly isn’t supposed to be brushing shoulders with Evie, skin-to-skin, neither with a coat.

_(Funny how they’ve both forgotten coats in this blustering cold.)_

Mal definitely isn’t supposed to be lacing her fingers with Evie’s. Or leaning her cheek on Evie’s shoulder. Or whispering into Evie’s ear: “Guess this is Valentine’s Day, huh, E?”

And Evie isn’t supposed to do what she does next.

She isn’t supposed to stroke Mal’s purple-fire hair with her cheek.

She isn’t supposed to lift Mal’s fingers to her lips. Not for a kiss – never for that, with their mothers’ torture lying in wait. But for a touch of her lips against Mal’s knuckles. The closest thing to a kiss they will ever get while they're locked here on the Isle.

“Don’t worry, Mal.” She squeezes Mal’s hand. Three times. A pulse of life. “We can both pretend it’s just any day.”

Mal’s answer isn’t sewn from words. Instead, it comes in the feathering of her thumb, along the sensitive skin of Evie’s hand. And in the nuzzle of her cheek, along Evie’s shoulder. And in the sigh that pushes from her lips, mingling with the wind which is somehow no longer cold.

So Evie doesn’t answer in words, either. Instead, she winds her arm around Mal’s waist. And pulls her closer.

Because to love Mal is to pretend it isn’t really happening. To love Mal with her whole heart, she must pretend away the crashing thunder of her heartbeat, the way her pulse spikes whenever they touch. 

And for now? That’s okay.

(Even when it’s not.)

_(The second year, Mal is too busy learning how not to pretend with someone else.)_

They are rescued from Auradon by a boy, a prince-turned-king. A friend-turned-lover. At least for Mal.

Mal, who has forgotten her touches with Evie on the Isle. Mal, who has forgotten everything but _him._

With her king, Mal doesn’t pretend. Mal opens her heart, leaving Evie behind to pretend for them both.

Evie pretends she doesn’t notice Mal sneak into their dorm room past curfew, when the lights are dark and Evie is in bed (pretending sleep). 

She pretends she doesn’t hear Mal humming in a way she’s never heard Mal hum before.

She pretends she doesn’t notice Mal touch her kiss-swollen lips, which are curled at the corners with a smile.

And she pretends she doesn’t blink back her own tears, thinking about how someone else is pulling Mal close. Someone else is kissing Mal. Someone else who is a king; who Evie can never compete with; who is everything Evie Will Never Be.

She pretends and she pretends and she pretends.

But she cannot pretend away the shattering of her heart.

_(The third year, they learn how not to pretend together.)_

__Evie’s heart is reformed, piece-by-piece.

It goes like this: Mal breaks up with Ben and spends her nights shivering, pretending away her tears. 

She curls into Evie’s arms when she once again allows Evie to pull her close, allows her to whisper things like _it’s-okay_ and _Í’m-always-here_ and _you’re-special-so-special-my-special-special-Mal_.

And on those nights, when Evie fits herself around each of Mal’s curves, her heart fits itself back together in a pattern of puzzle pieces.

_Piece one:_ Mal lays her cheek upon Evie’s chest and slips her head beneath Evie’s chin. Her lips are a warmth at Evie’s throat. A warmth that slips beneath Evie's skin, heating everything inside her.

The first piece glows and clicks.

_Piece two:_ Mal breathes in deep, as if she is breathing in Evie.

And Evie breathes in deep, too. Breathing in Mal. Breathing in this girl she thought she had lost. This girl who lays within her arms, vulnerable and real.

This girl who has been by her side, all along.

The second piece warms and molds with the first. 

_Piece three:_ Mal slides her fingers along Evie’s hand. Slow strokes of her fingertips, which linger against Evie's skin as if Mal is memorizing its texture. “I’ve missed you, Evie.”

Evie closes her eyes, falling into Mal's touch. "I've always been right here, Mal."

"That's not what I meant." Mal flips Evie’s hand to trace the sensitive lines of Evie’s palm. "I've missed this."

Evie laces their fingers together. "I've missed us."

__

__

“Yeah,” Mal whispers. “Us.”

Evie lifts Mal's hand to her lips. And kisses Mal's knuckles.

Mal catches Evie's gaze with her fiery green eyes. And in those eyes, there is an intensity that tells Evie everything she needs to know: They’re in Auradon now. Auradon, where their mothers cannot reach them. Auradon, where Evie’s knuckle-kiss is a kiss-turned-real.

The third piece clicks together with the second.

But Mal’s heart is still healing. And when they aren’t cuddled together in bed, Mal is skipping class. Or splattering canvases with crimsons and blacks, pretending to forget color. Pretending to forget anything but pain. _(Or maybe not pretending. But Evie pretends that isn’t true.)_

Sometimes, Mal tosses her brush to the floor, splattering the carpet with shades of heartbreak. “I think Mom was right, E.” She clenches her paint-splattered hand over her eyes. Eyes which are suspiciously watery and red. “Love is weak.”

Evie’s heart threatens to shatter. And so she tugs Mal close, holding her tight, using the pressure created by the girl she loves to keep her heart from breaking back into pieces. 

She places her lips to Mal’s ear. “You’re too fierce for anything to ever make you weak,” she’ll whisper, or “Then how is it that being with you makes me feel so strong,” she’ll murmur, or just, “Please don’t give up on love, M.” 

And what she is really saying is: _Please don’t give up on me_.

But Mal isn’t ready for that whisper yet. So Evie whispers footsteps with Mal across their room, swaying with her to the thunder of her heartbeat while the moon streaks pale light across the sky.

_Puzzle pieces the rest:_ And somewhere in the dance steps, somewhere in the cuddles, Mal transforms.

She says good-bye to crimson and black, making way for whispers of purple, shadows of lilac.

And, on days when she gazes at Evie from across the room, her eyes kaleidoscopes of emotion, she joins the purples and the lilacs with murmurs of indigo, shades of blue.

Their dances turn into something more.

One night, they twirl together on the school's outdoor ice rink. Evie’s fingers spin through Mal’s hair. Mal’s fingertips waltz along Evie’s waist. Tentative touches which form the center of a certain gravity. A gravity which tugs them together, which moves them closer. Closer and closer and closer...

...until there is no more closer.

Evie’s mouth crashes together with Mal’s

and an eager moan pushes from Mal’s parted lips

and Evie’s tongue slips inside Mal’s mouth to swallow her moan

and their world is spinning, spinning, spinning

to the music of their thrashing heartbeats

and There is No Pretend. 

There is just Mal’s hands pushing beneath the hem of Evie’s shirt.

Mal’s fingers tracing the skin of Evie’s back.

And Evie trembling beneath Mal’s touch.

And then there is silence. Silence and the flutter of falling snow, which blankets their shoulders as they break their kiss, holding each other close, swaying together in their new world of Not Pretend.

The puzzle pieces of Evie’s heart are broken no longer; they melt together into a single whole.

And one day – two years from the day Evie stood with Mal in the shadows of pirate ships on the gray churning seas of the Isle – Evie steps into their room to find the world transformed.

Mal staggers across a carpet of rose petals, her features bathed in the warm orange glow of candlelight, flickering from two candles set upon a card table. 

The table is placed in the center of the room. Decorated with paper napkins, plastic silverware, and two roses (purple and blue) resting within a paper cup. And upon the table are two paper plates, holding a feast of strawberries and peanut-butter-and-jelly.

Mal’s cheeks burn as bright as the candlelight. “This is the best I could do.” She flutters her hands, which appear as delicate as the wings of a baby bird. “I know you deserve better, E. I do. But –”

“Shh.” Evie crosses the room in two strides. “Silly M.” She places her fingertip to Mal's lips and traces their shape. “You gave me everything I needed when you kissed me. This?” She tilts her head at the décor. “Is just extra. A wonderful extra given to me by my wonderful Mal.”

Mal slides her fingers through Evie’s, lowering their hands from her lips. “And what if I kissed you again?”

"What if I kiss you first?” Evie’s voice is deepened with husk.

Mal's eyes gleam. She tilts her lips to Evie's. “What if I'm waiting?”

"Can't have that." Evie crashes her lips to Mal’s, tasting her plump mouth and her delicate tongue.

This time, they wait to break their kiss. Wait until the candle burns halfway down its wick and the moon shines its silver light across the room and the glow of Mal’s cheeks deepens into a radiance of red.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, M,” Evie murmurs against her lips.

Mal clutches Evie’s shoulder, as if keeping herself grounded in the center of their gravity. “Happy Valentine’s Day, E.”

_(The fourth year, there is no pretend.)_

This year, Evie decorates. 

She sprinkles the floor with wildflowers, vibrant and rich with fragrance. 

And she spreads wildflower petals along their double bed – two singles joined together to create one, where she twines together with Mal, the love of her life, the girl nestled within her arms, the girl whose naked skin glistens in the moonlight pooling through their third-floor window.

Mal slips her thigh between Evie’s, and they rock to the rhythm of their heartbeats, which crash together in a racing cadence. Fire flares within Evie’s belly. Flares so hot, so deep, she cries out as their rocking reaches a crescendo. 

She cries out her pleasure. 

She cries out her lover’s name. 

She cries out as Mal cries out, too.

Soon, there are fingers-gliding-along-arms and kisses-scattered-along-skin and murmurs of _I love you_ and _you’re perfect, so perfect_ and _I can hold you forever._

And then, when the moon is bright within the sky, when its silver light splashes through Mal’s intense green eyes, Mal captures Evie’s gaze and holds on tight.

Holds on as she sprinkles kisses across Evie’s breasts, as she tastes their peaks, smiling when Evie gasps.

Holds on as she lowers her kisses to Evie’s belly, where she swirls her tongue along Evie’s sensitive skin, grinning when Evie trembles. 

Holds on as she wraps Evie’s legs around her shoulders, as she kisses Evie in places deep, as she traces those places with her tongue, making Evie moan, making her flail, making her soar into heaven and crash into bliss. 

A bliss Evie shares with Mal when she flips her onto her back, when she smooths her lips and tongue between and along Mal’s breasts, when she kisses Mal’s belly and lower, lower, savoring the oh-so-delectable taste between Mal's thighs. 

Finally, when their muscles melt and their skin sings with bliss, they curl up nose-to-nose. 

Mal slides her fingers along Evie’s cheek. “I love you,” she whispers. “My always girl.” 

Evie rolls her cheek into Mal's palm. “I love you, too. My forever Mal.” 

This year, they do not have to pretend. Pretending is in the past.

This year, it is just Them. And everything Them is everything Real.


End file.
